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The dwarf before you is old. His ruddy face shows deep lines etched into its surface, and his eyes betray a weariness that only centuries of life could generate. He is garbed for battle, burnished chainmail sitting heavy atop his breast and war-pick hanging from a belt-loop – though it is clear that his days of standing fast in a shield-wall are long past.
The grey doublet that sits atop his mail bears a motif of an eye – though instead of a pupil there sits a stylised flame. You know this to be the sign of Dranngvit, the Debt-Minder, dwarven goddess of vengeance. The round wooden shield across his back has a second motif – the hammer of Kols, the Oath-Keeper.
Despite his frailty, you can sense the strength of his character and steeliness of his soul. As he walks there is a pronounced limp, though he does not seek to hide the weakness. Indeed he would cut the very figure of a revered dwarven elder, if not for one blemish…. he is clean shaven.
His voice is resonant, though holds a weary undertone to it, as he addresses the Governing Council in Highhelm ”I am Stonebrow-slagsun, the gladdringgar of my father lies within the depths of Tar-Urkatha. This is the second time that my line has stood before the Elder-Moot and requested your blessing to re-take that which should be ours. This is the second time that we have been cast out in rejection.”
His voice grows more strident and there are threads of both melancholy and resolute anger ”The blood of the Stonebrow is dying, I am the last that bears it’s taint. As was promised to my father upon his deathbed – I will live to see the forges of Tar-Urkatha fired once more.” his eyes are afire with passion and he pauses to cast his gaze across the members of the council.
Drawing a dagger from his belt, he continues ” Од крви и смрти – in the name of Kols and under the burning eye of Dranngvit I swear this.” clutching the blade of the dagger in his left hand with force so that blood runs freely from his fist and drips upon the floor. Jaw clenched with conviction, he does not outwardly show any pain. He maintains the hold and points accusingly at the council with his bloodied clenched fist – dagger still lodged within it ”When the halls are opened and the ways of our forebears cleared once more, Нека кукавице дошао пузећи за савет”
With that Sangvit is silent once more, daring a response from the assembled dwarven elders – and when none is forthcoming he turns and walks out slowly. His still bleeding hand leaving a trail of spilt blood in his wake.
Khepri of the Dawn dotting for action
Cynara checking in and dotting.
Padrym Steelribs reporting.
dot dot dot dash dash dash dash dot dot do.....
Wealday, 16th Pharast, 4711
Your evening of peace is interrupted by a loud knock on your door, awakening you from your reverie. Greeting you as you open the portal is one of the halfling roomboys that work at Breakstride – the inn where you have been staying after arriving into Solku. The roomboy, a gregarious whippet called Folkir, pipes up ”Excusin me sir, but Miss Finch said to call ye downstairs on orders of ye boss. Suppers waitin for ye downstairs in the private room. Mr Stonebrow’ll apparently join ye shortly” Message delivered, Folkir scarpers off to his other duties.
The night is still reasonably young, though the common room at the Breakstride is decidedly quiet as you make your way downstairs. Moving through the common area, you enter the private dining room.
The room is plainly appointed and the central table is set with eight chairs. A side table bears a platter of dates and flatbread, a frosted jug of ale and an ornate teapot filled with fragrant mint tisane.
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The dwarven mage meticulously prepared for the dinner with Stonebrow. Since Dolgrym had joined the expedition, it was clear that his presence was only being barely tolerated. One lone dwarf sent by the Council--if it wasn't for his father's prompting, he wouldn't even have been sent by Chairman Kaztor. Clearly Sangvit expected more from the Council.
Dolgrym made sure his battleaxe was gleaming as brightly as it could before heading downstairs. He intended to arrive as early as possible to select a chair far away from Sangvit, until the leader's mood had brightened towards him a bit. Still he was surprised to open the door and see he was the first.
Looking over the spread, he selected a hearty chunk of bread, with accompanying fruit and a mug of ale. He chose a chair in the middle of the table, knowing Sangvit would definitely sit at one of the heads. Where is everyone else?
At Folkir's greeting, Cynara gives the halfling a wry grin and an upraised eyebrow, but gives no further comment on being called "sir." "Thank you, young master, and I shall be down directly." Knowing that her appearance and dress would make little difference to the taciturn and untrusting dwarf, she leaves her scarf off, but takes her carved staff. Force of habit...at least I'll have it with me if I need it later.
As she enters the private dining room she notes the presence of one of the dwarves. And now I shall embarrass myself forgetting his name! Let me see...he came to Katapesh with Sangvit and I don't smell strong drink, so it's not the Pathfinder (what was his name?) or Feigr, and his axe seems to be normal steel, so he's.... "Master Dolgrym, good evening." She bows gracefully to the dwarf before leaning her staff against the seat next to his ("By your leave?"); collecting bread, dates, and a glass of the tisane from the sideboard; and returning to sit down next to him. "Pardon me for asking, but have you known the Stonebrow long?"
Feigr is sleeping fitfully, dark voices calling at the edges of his consciousness, when a light knock brings him back. He rolls off the pallet sending something crashing to the floor and stumbles to the door.
He opens the door to see the overly eager halfling standing outside, "Wha'dya want boy?" he grumbles, breath stinking of whiskey.
Upon hearing the boy's explanation he responds, "Hmmph, 'bout time Stonebrow called us. Night would be the best time to get this affair underway. I'll be down shortly."
The dwarf closes the door and takes a few steps, stopping for a moment to stretch and pull himself together. He puts his hands on his hips and arches his back, then bends forward, hands on his hips for a moment. After a moment, he walks to the side of the bed and lifts the waterskin slung across the bedpost to his lips, taking a pull of whiskey.
Head clear for a moment, he considers the task that Blackshield and Stonebrow have set before him and tries to bring to mind any details of Tar-Urkatha that Stonebrow might want to discuss.
Satisfied that he has recalled what he can for the moment, he crosses the room to the wardrobe and draws out his dark gray robes and shrugs them on, leaving his armor and weapons inside. He cinches a belt around his waist and heads for the private room.
He enters the room, nose catching the smell of bread and mint. Seeing Dolgrym he straightens, "Greetings Sharpeaxe. I see you're eager to get dinner underway." He nods to Cynara, "And Cynara, I suppose you still have Folkir hopelessly confused. Not a lot of elves make their way to Solku. Probably took all the courage he had to knock on your door."
Feigr makes his way over to the side table pouring a tall mug of ale and plucking a couple dates. He pops the dates in his mouth and then chases them with a swig of the ale, then pulls out one of the chairs at the head of the table and sits down.
"Discussing our host I suppose...any good dirt?"
The dwarf nodded at the elf, mouth too full of dry bread to utter a response, when yet another enters and greets them. "Greetings, Cynara," he says in a friendly tone, washing down the bread. He was a bit taken aback when the elf sits directly next to him. He didn't have any of the common resentment that much of his race had, but he was unaccustomed to mush dealings with them in any event. Nevertheless, he continued, "Why yes, Feigr, we were just beginning our gossip-fest. I don't know much of the fellow, other than what happened at his visit to the Council...the Highhelm Council, I mean. And I've no doubt that story has already reached both of your ears as well. I don't know the story behind his beard, though."
"I will be along shortly."
Three days an no word. He lacks patience, my commander would've kept me waiting at least five.
Padrym dresses for war, leaving his backpack in the room but putting on his armor and war axe, satchel and components pouch.
Making his way to the hall, he is surprised and chagrined to see he is not the first one present, the ire and embarrassment on his face clear to the dwarves present, as well as those capable of discerning facial expressions through that much beard.
"Private Steelribs reporting for dinner!"
Browsing through the spread Padrym takes only the most militarily suitable food, that which would make for good trail rations or emergency weaponry.
The elf smiles at Feigr's comment. "I don't know why he'd be intimidated; I'm not unfriendly. Even first thing in the morning."
She listens to Feigr and Dolgrym without commenting, only nodding at appropriate points. There are hidden things here, and I don't know enough about dwarves to say what they are; best to keep mouth closed and ears open until I know more.
Padrym's entrance is a not-entirely-welcome break from gossip. Cynara looks across at him with a faint expression of amusement on her face. Dear me, he's a serious one. I shall no doubt find much to smile about, watching him and Feigr deal with each other.
Feigr grins back at Cynara and is unable to contain a low chuckle, "Not sure if you've noticed, but that boy can't keep his eyes off you. It's not that you're unfriendly at all, he just has no idea what to make of you. I'm not even sure he knows you're a girl."
Feigr watches Padrym bull his way into the room with a thin smile barely visible behind his beard. He continues to observe the dwarf as he picks his way through the food.
"Hey Steelribs, Khepri told me at lunch that if you let him cast Magic Stone on your dates, you can do some wicked damage to the Zolurket zombies. Hell, you might even put an eye out."
There is no idle chatter in the market about dark blue crystals or drow - but you get the indication that the gnoll seem to be getting more agitated. Some also talk of how there has not been an orcish incursion from the Mwangi in many years.
There was a cave-in, miners trapped for many days. The dwarves worked tirelessly to free them, but it was many weeks before they broke through. When they reached those that had been trapped, they had been changed. Suffused with an evil that runs through the deepest veins of the mines the rescuers soon became overrun, those that had been trapped unleashed with a dreadful hunger for living flesh. The dwarves fought manfully for many months, but as each fell - it arose as a new enemy. The mines were lost and have lain fallow for six centuries. Many attempts have been made to reclaim the halls, though none have succeeded. Those that survived to return have told that the upper levels have been abandoned to bandits and raiders, though the evil still sleeps deep within the complex....
As for local news, you don't learn anything of particular note. Many seem to think that the gnoll are getting restless once more, though that rumor is far from new. One excitable caravanserai talked of giant ants that stood upright on their back legs - though his face was a deep red from sun exposure so you don't hold much truth to his words.
As you wait you are joined by another of Sangvit's expedition; Gaelthrin Hornspur. Her face displays a grim countenance, though you know her to occasionally show a dry wit, and her hair is pulled clear of her face and into a single braid. Many would consider her pretty if not for the jagged scar that traces a path from the corner of her mouth to her left ear - gifted to her by an orc's axe many summers prior.
Gaelthrin has been part of Sangvit's quest since before the Elder-Moot, and you know that she is close in his confidence. Dressed as always for combat well-fitting chainmail tight on her form, and hammer hanging by her side she takes some bread and mint tea from the platter before sitting heavily at the table's foot.
She nods to each of you in turn by way of greeting "Evening all, don't bother asking as I don't know any more than you do yet. Master Stonebrow will join us soon enough I trust, and we'll be enlightened then." her voice is genuine but blunt. Her scarred hands continue to pick and the bread as she speaks.
Feigr takes another swallow of ale as he listens to Gaelthrin.
He rises and walks back to the side table, grabbing a handful of dates. Returning to the table, he sits and lazily tosses one in the air, catching it in his mouth.
"Seen him this evening Gaelthrin?"
Grunting a hrumph in a frustrated tone, she replies "Nay, he's been at the Archive all day - had me knee deep in the souks spending far too much for salted camel and hardtack. By Angradd if one of these sandy thieves tries to cheat me again he'll go down hard and wake up three days hence with a sizeable lump on his temple."
Gaelthrin refers to the Archive of Eminent Tomes one of the major buildings in Solku and a repository of a variety of manuscripts both ancient and recent.
Later than most, Khepri finally comes down the stairs. Outfitted in his Sarenrae finest, his presence is immediately felt in the inn. Dark skinned with short dark hair and piercing eyes, Khepri commands attention in the room. Khepri talks to a few regulars, before looking around the common room for the group.
He spies the assembled group and with a grin comes over to join them, "Hello everyone! Great to see you all! Can I get anyone anything?"
As Khepri enters and greets the party, Cynara may roll her eyes; it's hard to tell. I'd quite forgotten how terrifying cheerful that human can be. Yes, between him, Feigr, and Padrym, I think we'll have enough to keep us amused.
"Thank you, Master Khepri. Since you ask, I'll take some feta and olives, and another piece of pita."
Sense Motive
"Thank you for the offer, but I am through with the appetizers for now. Where is the meat located in this place? I am not built like Cynara here...I need something more substantial to keep me from wasting away to nothing," he grins as he pats his rather prominent belly.
"I'm not sure I want Khepri casting anything on my dates, but battle will be a welcome distraction from this inn. Have they no buildings here made of good solid stone?"
Female voice: Patience love, we will recover my sisters soon.
Where Torag is the god of defense and strategical thinking, his younger brother Angradd prefers aggressive tactics. Together with his older brother Magrim, he watches over battles and decides the destinies of dwarven spirits. In practice, dwarves will offer prayers and sacrifices to Angradd if they are about to begin an offensive battle.
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As though sensing the need for meatier fare, Folkir reappears in the room to fulfill your need. A large platter of sharwarma meats is placed on the main table as well as side plates of falafel and kibbeh.
He also refreshes the jug of ale and pot of tea, as well as bringing a fresh stack of flatbread. Lastly he sets a plate of feta and olives within the reach of the Elven Oracle. After his work is done he lingers several moments staring slightly slackjawed at Cynara before being shooed away by Gaelthrin.
Gaelthrin takes some olives and refreshes her cup of tisane, but does not partake of any of the meat.
"Now this is more like it," the mage says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, after seeing the pile of shredded meat before him.
"Thank you, Master Khepri. Since you ask, I'll take some feta and olives, and another piece of pita."
Khepri nods with a grin and gathers a plate for Cynara, "Here you go. Miss Finch serves the best fare in Solkut. I have always tried to come here to eat when I have had some free time away from the Lambent Citadel"
"I agree Dolgrym, a good haunch of meat is just what we need right now, though I think you can have the lion's share."
No sense eating too much before battle.
Upon your visit to the Lambent Citadel they accept you gracefully and the adepts spend some time discussing news from Katapesh with you. When you visit, they ask if you would spend some time in their infirmary tending patients?
There is no idle chatter in the market about dark blue crystals or drow - but you get the indication that the gnoll seem to be getting more agitated. Some also talk of how there has not been an orcish incursion from the Mwangi in many years.
Cynara will be happy to oblige them, and will spend a day tending patients.
Hm, the gnolls again. I'll include that in my note to Indriel. Not that followers of Lamashtu are likely to make common cause with the drow, but those bestial louts might be led by the nose unwitting. And perhaps the orcs may be occupied elsewhere...something else to include.
She'll follow up on chatter about the gnolls and orcs, mentioning that she's newly arrived from Katapesh City (and she'll share any gossip from the capital that people might find interesting).
The priests that work in the ward tell you that he was found by an inbound caravan wandering in the foothills West of Solku, a festering wound in his side. They have tended him as they can, but believe he is beyond their help. During a rare moment of lucidity, he reaches out and grasps your forearm insistently whispering "they see, they see it all" before falling back into his waking coma.
Following up on the rumors of gnolls and orcs you don't hear too much that you put much faith in. The usual fanciful tales of bored caravan drivers trying to one up the others. However one dour Mwangi just arrived from Kalabuto tells you of an attack on his caravan that had both orcs and gnolls with strange tattoos working together. They repelled the attack, but the assaulters collected their dead as they fled the field.
Feigr takes another swallow of ale and picks at some of the meat. He listens and snatches a couple of falafel patties from the side plate, dipping one in cucumber sauce and biting it in half with a crunch.
Mouth still half full he dryly observes, "Told ya Cynara. Gods help us if you say a word to that poor boy. He's going to melt into a puddle of water."
He continues to nibble on the falafel while listening to the exchange between Dolgrym, Khepri and Padrym and turns to Gaelthrin, "So Gaelthrin, please tell me that you got those sandy thieves to give you a deal on a salted camel...or maybe two." He waves at Dolgrym, "Now this is a boy that can put it away. We'd best keep him well-fed"
Gaelthrin chuckles and wryly answers "Didn't give them the deal I wanted, but we weren't robbed too badly." her mouth attempts to curl into a grin, but the scar on her cheek prevents it "Fear not Sharpaxe, you'll not go hungry. It might not be so tasty after your third week running, but it'll keep yer belly from grumbling too much"
"Remember, you have to keep the forge fired properly," he says with a laugh, again patting his stomach, as he was wont to do. "Time for some dessert?" he inquires hopefully, before the business commences.
"Tell me Gaelthrin, how far away is Tar-Urkatha, that we need 3 weeks of supplies? Is there any sort of support base there once we start the expedition, or will we be building one?"
Supplies supplies supplies. An army runs on it's stomach, as Sarge used to say.
"Solku is the last friendly house you'll see this far West. The mine lies deep in the mountains between here and the jungles of Mwangi. We ford the river then its a long hard journey on barren land."
Even after but three days in Breakstride, Erilene Finch has become acutely tuned to the grumblings of Dolgrym's paunch. She enters through the closed doorway and delivers a tray of lokum, baklava and pistachios. Smiling as Dolgrym's eyes light up she mentions "Master Stonebrow just returned, he's delivering some papers to his room then he'll be down presently" and returning you to privacy.
The elf looks after Folkir with an amused expression as he stumbles out. "I believe you're right, Feigr." She tilts her head before returning her attention to her plate. "Perhaps it's the ears?"
At Gaelthrin's words, though, she looks up, caught in mid-bite. She holds up a hand to get the dwarf's attention while she swallows the olive, then speaks. "Towards Mwangi? I've been in the market getting healing supplies, and heard about a caravan attacked by tattooed gnolls and orcs together. The odd thing was that when they were driven off, they carried their dead away with them. There's also a poor unfortunate dying in the infirmary at the Lambent Citadel. He was found in the foothills west of here...while I was treating him, he became lucid for a moment and said, 'they see, they see it all.'" She sits back and looks around with her unsettling eyes. "Getting to the mine in the first place may be something of a challenge, and staying supplied may not be as easy as we'd like, either."
"Tattooed gnolls? How would you even know under all that filthy hair?" Padrym says, stroking his beard while contemplating the oddities of gnolls and elves.
"I assume we'll be traveling as part of a caravan, with guards for the camp? Or are we to descend into the deep and hope nothing comes behind us? I hate to delay but clearing out the surrounding area first may be the wiser course."
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”We’ll no doubt have time enough to..” Gaelthrin starts to respond before being interrupted by the door to the private room opening once more. Entering the room is the leader of your fledgling attempt to reclaim the mines, Sangvit Stonebrow-slagsun. Dressed in a simple grey tunic bearing a motif of Dranngvit’s flaming eye his presence immediately commands your attention. He carries a number of rolled maps under one arm, and cradles a silk wrapped bundle in his left hand.
His solemn eyes briefly scan the room, a fleeting creasing of his brow when he notices that one of your number is missing ”Hail and my thanks for assembling at the short notice.” Limping slowly but with purpose to the empty head of the table, Sangvit sets down his cargo before accepting the mug of ale provided by Gaelthrin. Despite not reaching for any food, he gestures for you to continue before sitting ”Please, do not stop on my account – we will likely talk for some time and I would not have you hungry.”
As he takes a long draught of ale you see that his left hand remains bound, as it has been since the Elder-Moot. Fresh blood can be seen crusted on the bandages around his palm. You also observe that Sangvit remains cleanly and closely shaven – most likely having shaved this morning. Although you all recognize the significance of the clean chin within Dwarven culture, he has not spoken of why he bears the shame. All of the dwarves associated with the expedition do not use the slagsun suffix when speaking his name, though Sangvit always uses it himself.
He then continues to speak ”Kinsmen and honoured comrades” making a point to make eye contact with Khepri and Cynara ”The time draws close where we will strike out from Solku and take the first steps towards our mutual goal. I will not mince words, many have tried, many have died, and there will be a long hard road to travel ahead – but by Kols I will see Tar-Urkatha cleansed before I pass to the Boneyard.” despite the power and purpose to his words, the oath is said more as a factual statement rather than a fanciful oath.
”Have you any affairs that need be seen to or questions to ask before I move on to paving the path ahead?”
Cynara shakes her head wordlessly and waits for the dwarf to go on.
The outer door opens and a dwarf enters. For a moment you think he is a member of the inn staff as he is dressed in simple working clothes of brown and grey. Then as he slips into an empty space at a rear bench you see that he is one of the dwarves on the expedition. He seems bland and forgettable bit the name 'Lowfield' swims up from memory.
Any word frm the less reputable side of the street on this clam-bake? Love is worried that the lack of funds he's been hearing whispers about might have led our dear obsessed leader to turn to the more entrepreneurial sources of funding, and Love likes his knees.
The outer door opens and a dwarf enters. For a moment you think he is a member of the inn staff as he is dressen in simple working clothes of brown and grey. Then as he slips into an empty space at a rear bench you see that he is one of the dwarves on the expidition. He seems bland and forgettable bit the name 'Lowfield' swims up from memory.
Seeing Lowfield come in Khepri stands up and with a grin says, "Ernst, good to see you! Need any food? It is quite good today!"
** spoiler omitted **
So it's true, he is...
Female voice: I'm sure there is a reason. You will see worse.
Padrym does his best not to react to Sangvit's cheeks.
"I've many questions, but I'll save them for now."
The outer door opens and a dwarf enters. For a moment you think he is a member of the inn staff as he is dressen in simple working clothes of brown and grey. Then as he slips into an empty space at a rear bench you see that he is one of the dwarves on the expidition. He seems bland and forgettable bit the name 'Lowfield' swims up from memory.Seeing Lowfield come in Khepri stands up and with a grin says, "Ernst, good to see you! Need any food? It is quite good today!"
Love winces at the use of his first name. "Hello Khepri. Yes that tabuli smells lovely."
Dolgrym becomes much quieter upon the entrance of Sangvit. He becomes more formal in his interactions with the group. He merely nods toward Lowfeld upon his entrance to the room.
”Have you any affairs that need be seen to or questions to ask before I move on to paving the path ahead?”
Loves voice rises from the assembly. "I have one question. You say that others have tried to reclaim this mine before and failed. What makes you confident that our band will succede? I understand the local bookmakers are offering twenty to one that we dissapear into the mine and five to one that we simply vanish in the desert with out even finding Tar-Urkatha. I have to note that they are getting very little action at even those generous odds."
However, they are a bit surprised that a dwarf led expedition is bringing an elf in tow... and wonder if the elves have any bankroll riding on the venture.
The corner of Sangvit's mouth curls into a wry smile "I can offer you no more succor than my word and bond. The roots of my blood-kin run deep in Tar-Urkatha and I am joined in my quest by the Debt-Minder and Oath-Keeper. But..." pausing a moment to drill his gaze at Lowfield "there are no bonds holding you here. Choose now whether to walk the path or step away."
If you glance at Gaelthrin during Sangvit's speech you can easily see that she believes whole-heartedly and without reservation in the venture.
Love winces at the use of his first name. "Hello Khepri. Yes that tabuli smells lovely."
Khepri notices the wince and makes a mental note to not use it again.
"I am with you Sangvit. The Ninth may not support this but I am here, guided by Magatha and my own sworn oaths."
Love looks the clean shaven dwarf in the eye. "Nope, a Lowfield doesn't walk away from a job, just wanted to know where we stand. I do not doubt that you, sir, will find what you are looking for in the mine."